


Dreaming

by there_must_be_a_lock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, but mostly it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/there_must_be_a_lock/pseuds/there_must_be_a_lock
Summary: "How long has it been since you slept?"
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	Dreaming

She draws the curtains and turns off the lights, until the room is dim except for the dull yellow glow of the small lamp on the nightstand. Sam can see the worry written in every line of her body: tense shoulders, clenched jaw, stiff steps. He hates being the reason she’s unhappy. 

He digs his thumb into his palm compulsively. He knows it won’t help. Lucifer’s still perched on the edge of the bed, making rude comments as she strips off her flannel and jeans. 

“How long has it been since you slept?” she asks quietly. “The truth.” 

She knows him too well. 

“A couple hours, in the last few days,” he says. Less than he’d wanted to tell Dean, that’s for sure. “It’s… easier when you’re around.” 

Her expression softens. She starts unbuttoning Sam’s flannel for him, and he fumbles with his belt. Lucifer fades out as Sam looks down at her. 

They’ve slept on the road, the last couple nights, napping and taking turns driving. It’s harder to hold on to reality when she’s curled in the backseat, just out of reach. 

That was what gave him away, in the end; Sam had almost dozed off, his right hand clasped loosely with hers as he drove, until the headlights and the shouting jolted him awake again. He couldn’t hide it from them anymore, not if it meant putting them in danger. 

The worst part was the way Lucifer’s laugh echoed behind her scream. If Sam ever does sleep again, he’ll hear that in his nightmares. 

“I should’ve noticed sooner,” she mutters. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. It’s the best feeling in the world, the way she fits in his arms. 

“I’m a Winchester, remember?” he says with a soft huff of laughter. “World champions of pretending to be fine.” 

She lets out a disgruntled little _hmph_ against his chest, but when she pulls back her eyes are suspiciously wet. She grabs his hands and laces their fingers together, tugging him toward the bed. 

“You think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “As long as you stay with me.” 

She gives him a ghost of a smile and promises, “Always.” 

Sam thinks he might be dreaming already. It feels like he’s moving underwater: slow, hazy, the lines between reality and dreams blurring through the fog of bone-deep exhaustion like nothing he’s ever felt before. 

Sam’s always thought of her as a dream come true, but right now she’s the only thing in his life that’s still in perfect focus. She’s crystal-clear, undeniable, untouched by the fragments of surreal dreams and twisted illusions that dance through his vision. She’s his favorite thing to look at. 

She settles on her side, facing him, and he runs the pad of his thumb up and down the little crease in her forehead until it smoothes. He brushes the curve of her lower lip with his thumb, back and forth, and then drags his knuckles down her jaw until he can feel her pulse under his fingertips. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles. He traces the curve of her neck and shoulder, then skims his fingertips down her arm before slipping his hand under the hem of her t-shirt. There’s a softness around her hips that he loves, and he takes a moment to just _feel_ , grounded by the warmth of her living skin, scarred and stretched and human under his palm. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” she says. “We’ll figure it out. You said it helps, right? To be around me?” 

Sam can feel his mouth twitching into a frown, despite his best efforts to put on a strong face for her. He slides his hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer, until she’s tight against him like a missing puzzle piece: her head tucked under his chin, her breath on the hollow of his throat, her arms around him so they’re completely wrapped up in each other. 

“When we’re touching. It’s not like I can touch you 24/7, though,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Besides, it won’t last. He keeps getting stronger.” 

“I’m touching you now, though.” She’s so goddamn stubborn. Sam loves her for it. “One thing at a time.” 

“I just… don’t know how much longer I can hold out, if this keeps up.” His voice cracks, and his eyes burn when he closes them. 

“Hey,” she breathes. “ _Hey_ , sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

She rolls them over, so Sam’s on his back, and props herself up just enough that she can look down at him. Her face fills his field of vision, so close he can’t see anything else. 

“I’ve got you,” she repeats, and presses her lips to his forehead, then kisses the tip of his nose. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he slurs, his eyes already half-closed. 

“Right now all you need to do is sleep, okay?” Her voice is low and tender. “I’ve got you.” 

Sam runs his hands up her back, cups her shoulderblades, pulls her down against him, and the grounding pressure of her body feels like the softest, sweetest anchor. 

She’s better than anything he could’ve dreamed up. She’s _real_. As long as Sam can hold onto her, hold onto this one little moment of reality that Lucifer can’t touch, he can keep fighting. 

He holds her close, and he sleeps. 


End file.
